


Abominable:  A Cautionary Tale

by panisdead



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: sga_flashfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-19
Updated: 2011-02-19
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panisdead/pseuds/panisdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I mean, here we are in our pajamas waiting for Dad to bring us cookies and hot chocolate.  We should tell ghost stories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abominable:  A Cautionary Tale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the sga_flashfic Halloween Challenge. Many thanks to Monanotlisa, Umbo, Fanofall, and Kormantic for looking it over.

"You lose," Rodney panted, grimacing at the rapidly spreading puddle at John's feet. John could feel cold little rivulets sluicing down the back of his neck and weighing down his already sodden shirt. Next to him Teyla was wringing out her hair, brow creased with displeasure. "When Frensa here said 'extremely localized weather systems' this wasn't quite what I was expecting," Rodney went on, waving weakly in the direction of the Hrada off-world relations official who'd met the team at the stargate, gestured at the clouds in agitation, and then led them on a mad half-mile dash to the visitor quarters in advance of what looked like a front of tiny, violent storm clouds.

As soon as he'd stopped whooping for breath enough to straighten up, Rodney'd busied himself with grumbling and ostentatiously brushing moisture off his shoulders and laptop case. He and Ronon were merely damp, however, having been in the lead during the sprint to make shelter ahead of the approaching downpour. John and Teyla hadn't been so lucky.

Turning his back on Rodney, John nodded in Ronon's direction. "Next time _you_ can get our six."

"No problem," Ronon said, eyeing him with amusement as he stepped deliberately away from John's puddle. "That way we can all get wet."

Frensa stepped forward before John could retaliate. He was a balding, paunchy gentleman in drab khaki, but he'd covered ground like Michael Johnson out there in the rain, blazing a path from the terrace in front of the stargate to the blocky stone visitor quarters set just outside the towering city gates. "Let me apologize again," Frensa said, frowning, still puffing a little. "Normally we have transport from the stargate, but both vehicles were damaged in a recent landslide, and repairs have been slow."

"A _landslide_ ," John said dubiously, glancing around the small foyer with its grey stone walls and barred windows closed against the pounding rain outside. Frensa was already waving his concern away, rubbing at his face wearily.

"Common this time of year, and harmless enough when equipment has been put away properly." He sighed, annoyance plain on his face for a moment, and pulled one ankle up behind him in a quadricep stretch. "The weather this season has been unusually bad, though," he said, wincing as he switched ankles. "Some of the monks believe it portentous, but I find it merely tiresome." Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Rodney's mouth snap shut and his chin tilt upward smugly, probably recognizing a kindred spirit in crotchetiness. "In any case," Frensa went on hopefully, "I trust you'll allow us to offer you dry clothes and a chance to recuperate before we begin negotiations?" He gazed at them through lowered lashes, the expression on his face almost sly. "Perhaps even a meal?"

John shot a glance at Teyla, who nodded almost imperceptibly. Well then, khaki and dinner it was. "That would be very generous of you," he said, plucking at the soaked waistband of his BDUs.

"Yes, Colonel, Teyla," Rodney agreed, a glint in his eyes, "you two should definitely go get out of those wet--"

" _Rodney_ ," John said warningly, because nobody here really needed that sentence finished.

Frensa moved on obliviously, apparently bolstered by the prospect of food, directing Teyla down a long, high-ceiling hallway--"Then it's up the stairs and the first door on the left, you remember, Teyla, yes?"--and beckoning to Rodney and Ronon. "We'll just run along and tell the kitchen how many to expect, and I'll send someone up to collect you when it's ready," he said. "No hurry."

"Certainly," Teyla said, smiling. "Your hospitality is always appreciated."

John caught Ronon's eye and nodded significantly at Rodney, who was now staring into the middle ground between sopping wet John and Teyla, looking a little glazed. Ronon rolled his eyes but nodded back, moving in closer to Rodney, who looked up to meet John's eyes and scowled. It was a scowl easily interpretable to John through long familiarity, one that said _I'm a brilliant grown man, I don't need a sitter_. John made familiar face back at him, his _okay, next time I'll leave you alone to your kidnapping, maiming, and eventual gruesome death, shall I?_ face, and turned away, following Teyla down the long, echoing hall to a flight of stone stairs, wide and well-worn.

They climbed squelchily upward, past woven wall-hangings of trees and cliffs and seas with yarn whitecaps that gleamed in the dim light, to a heavy wooden door just to the left of the landing. John followed Teyla through into a small sitting room with low couches and, on the near wall, an open wardrobe with bland, earth-toned fabric spilling out the front. Teyla went immediately to the wardrobe and began pulling out sets of what looked like hospital scrubs, which, _fantastic._ Nothing like conducting trade negotiations in your pajamas to really drive those hard bargains. John sighed and ambled wetly over, taking the clothes Teyla held out to him with a grimace.

Teyla wrinkled her nose at him in sympathy. "Not what I would prefer either, Colonel, but they are dry, and accepting the offer will put us on stronger footing with Frensa."

"Yeah, what's with that guy, anyway?" John asked, absently holding the loose pants up to check the length. "He seems a little...eccentric? Flighty? Loopy, even."

"He is perhaps a little too accustomed to his role, yes, but Frensa is an extremely accomplished negotiator," Teyla said. "I believe the Hrada trade council allows him to remain in his position on the strength of his bargaining skills, rather than his--decorum." She inclined her head briefly, hiding a smile, and John wondered if this wasn't the first time she'd seen the guy go through his calisthenics routine. "I have met with him twice before, and he was much the same. He is harmless, however, and in practice his mannerisms can be effective in weeding out less flexible trading partners."

Huh. Hit 'em with your crazy right off the bat so there's no surprises later: not a bad idea. After all, it was basically the same strategy he used every time he took his team through the gate. "Yeah, well, he's weird. Now go on," he waved her in the direction of what was presumably the door to the bathroom, "go get changed. I'm getting goosebumps just looking at you." It was true; Teyla had stripped off her vest and the skin along her arms and bare midriff was covered in goose flesh, somehow making her look smaller and much more forlorn than usual. It made John a little uneasy, like all was not right with the world.

While Teyla disappeared into the bathroom with her armful of ugly fabric, John stepped out of his boots and padded over to the window, peering outside at the rain, which continued to lash brutally against the thick leaded glass windows. It had been late afternoon when they'd arrived on the planet, per Frensa's invitation, but out there it was rapidly turning into a dark and stormy night. He sighed a little tiredly. It would have been nice to have concluded negotiations and been back in Atlantis by their nightfall, but neither he nor his hamstrings relished the idea of racing back to the stargate through that rain. He relished the idea of convincing Rodney to do so even less. Hopefully it would clear up enough so they wouldn't be obligated to spend the night; Teyla hadn't mentioned if that was part of Frensa's typical weeding-out procedure.

He was wringing his socks out into a convenient potted plant when Teyla emerged, draped in voluminous khaki except for the deep V of her neckline. John immediately missed the sight of her biceps, of the deep, muscular curve of her lower back. He straightened up guiltily, ignoring Teyla's smirk, and made his way into the guest bath. There, in a surreal moment, he found a basket of clean, folded undergarments in varying shades of neutral, which he poked through a little squeamishly looking for his size. He changed quickly into his own set of scrubs--they were butt-ugly, yeah, but they were also blissfully dry--swiped a surprisingly soft towel over his hair and neck, and came back out to find Teyla sitting cross-legged on one of the sofas, wiping down her weapons. He plopped down next to her and swung his bare feet up onto the low wooden coffee table, reaching for his own Beretta. He swiped one of Teyla's towels--she raised an eyebrow at him but didn't object--and fell into a companionable rhythm with her.

"Should we go back down, you think?" he asked, glancing up at her after a moment.

"It is not necessary," Teyla replied. "He will send someone to find us when the food is ready, and I confess I would prefer not to begin negotiations until after we have _all_ had a hot meal."

"Mm, no problem," John said. He set his gun down on his lap and let himself sink back in the cushions, sighing. He felt unusually relaxed for an away mission, wrung out from the rain and the sprinting and the familiar, almost comforting feeling of being safe indoors during a bad storm. "It's like a slumber party," he said lazily, rolling his head toward her along the back of the couch. "I mean, here we are in our pajamas waiting for Dad to bring us cookies and hot chocolate. We should tell ghost stories."

This time Teyla's raised eyebrow was definitely amused. "I have heard your efforts at 'ghost stories' before. I do not believe you could frighten me."

John pointed a disagreeing finger at her. "Now there's where you're wrong. My stories are plenty scary, it's just you don't have the--" he paused for a moment to nod self-assuredly, mouth pursed, "--the _cultural context_. That's what you need to appreciate them." He nodded once more for extra emphasis.

"In that case, maybe I should tell _you_ a story," Teyla said, voice rich with amusement and exasperation. "Since we agree I am incapable of appreciating yours?"

John spared a moment to wonder what, exactly, he'd gotten himself into. Pegasus galaxy campfire tales were probably pretty terrifying simply by virtue of _their_ cultural context, but now his pride was on the line. "Go ahead," he said, folding his arms across his chest, goading her. "Spook me."

"Very well." Teyla twirled the now-dry dagger in her hand absently. "I will tell you a very old legend, passed down through generation upon generation of my people." Her voice took on a hushed note, and John felt himself leaning forward almost involuntarily. "It is a cautionary tale, used to warn our youth away from dalliances--"

"Dalliances," John agreed.

"--and impress upon them the brutality of life, the need to remain ever vigilant." She went on, voice rising and falling, spinning the tale of a child taken by the Wraith and then returned, years later, empty and unspeaking, an abomination. John felt himself getting sucked in against his will, the drumming rain and irregular flashes of lightning outside no longer comforting, instead now setting his teeth on edge. He watched the shadows play across Teyla's somber face, listening to the story of the boy--now a young man--as he sought out his home village and began to stalk the innocent youth with unceasing, murderous intent. Embarrassingly, John's heart began to beat faster, his knuckles to ache from clenching his fists, picturing the escapee from the Wraith in his blank, eyeless Drone mask. Teyla spoke in brutal, vivid detail of how the Abomination wielded his knife, bent on destroying those who were unchaste, and more terrifyingly, those who were simply unlucky. The Athosians fought back, of course--

"--but when the village protectorate went to remove the Abomination's body to the pyre, it was not to be found."

John's breath felt caught in his chest, his eyes huge. "It was _gone_?"

Teyla dropped her eyes to her hands, twisting anxiously in her lap. "His body was never found." She looked up again, face pinched with some emotion. "My people claim that he haunts that village still, leaving death in his wake."

"Whoa." John stared at her, impressed. "That's some cautionary tale."

"Indeed. It is most effective among our more rebellious youth." Teyla lowered her voice even further, glancing uneasily around the darkened room. "During traditional retellings, we never speak the name, but I--well, I would like to speak it now, as a banishment."

"Yeah," John whispered, throat tightening. It was downright _eerie_ to see Teyla creeped out. "Yeah, of course. Whatever you need."

Teyla dipped her head sheepishly. "It is foolish, but as a child I was much frightened by the legend of Michael Myers, and--"

" _Oh_ my _God_ ," John said as the penny dropped. "You did not. You _did not._ " He could feel his eyes bulging and the shock of adrenaline zooming straight up his spine as Teyla abruptly folded, doubling over with her face in the pillow, shrieking with laughter. "I don't _believe_ you!" His voice soared and cracked as he sat bolt upright, dumbfounded and practically vibrating. "Teyla!" he whined.

Teyla toppled sideways onto the couch, gasping. "Your face! Oh John, your _face_." Her eyes screwed shut as a fresh peal of laughter burst out of her.

"How have you even _seen_ that movie?" he protested.

"I am leader of my people, John Sheppard, I can use a remote control."

John slumped back, beaten. "Fine! You got me, it's in the video library. I should have figured it out when he returned on the fifteenth anniversary of his culling, huh."

Teyla's mouth wobbled. "My people tell another legend where it turns out that the signal--is originating--from _inside the_ \--"

John swooped forward and slung his wet socks at her shaking form. "Cultural context my _ass_ ," he said breathlessly, lunging around to yank out the couch cushion and wallop Teyla with it. "See if I ever trust a word out of your mouth again."

Teyla squirmed away from him, still giggling, and feinted left, straightening up with a damp towel in her hand. John dodged away from the first snap, caught the next one full across the back of his right thigh, and then fell over the back of the couch in his attempt to escape. He'd barely hit the floor before Teyla vaulted over after him, landing with one bare foot on the ground and one smack in the center of his chest, and that was when the outer door slammed open.

"Are you _herding cattle_ in here?" Rodney snapped, scanning the room at eye level. "Frensa's put out this enormous spread downstairs, really unbelievable, and you need to--Sheppard, what the _hell_?"

"Just a friendly little misunderstanding," John said breathlessly from the floor. Teyla ground her heel into his chest and smiled radiantly.

"Really," deadpanned Ronon from the hallway. "Little?"

Teyla removed her foot and offered John a hand up, the picture of graciousness, then passed him his gun while Rodney stared at them, nonplussed. "Friendly, I assure you," she said. "Do not trouble yourselves any further." The words sounded good on the surface, but the smirk she aimed at John said that tales of his gullibility would be making the rounds among the senior staff before he could say boo.

"You just wait," he told her, stuffing his feet back into his damp, disgusting boots and heading for the door. "Next movie night, we're all watching _It_."

END


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